The Moments We Share
by KikkoPirate
Summary: He could remember every detail of that day. The smoldering heat of the summer that had personally transformed the manor into a sauna, the swollen beads that perspired above his brow, the growing angst that had taken root in the very pit of his stomach, every apprehensive 'click-clack' that derived from the soles of his shoes as they impetuously hit the wood. All because of her...
1. Annette

**AN: I have a lot of "what if" scenarios that go around in my head, especially when it comes to Brook since he seems to be the only crew member whose childhood was never revealed. Regardless, I like to think he had a childhood friend whom he grew up and eventually fell in love with. This story is only one of the many scenarios that go along with that theme. ****Anyway, alternate universe where Brook had a wife when he was alive. **And none of you can convince me otherwise that he wouldn't have made a great and loving husband! Of course, this is all before Yorki and the Rumbars and more during the Battle Convoy Captain years. 

* * *

Brook couldn't believe this was happening. He was just outside the door, treading up and down, up and down so hastily, he swore he was branding a mark into the wood of the floor. A month he had barely been home. A month! And this was how he was to spend his precious time before being shipped back off to the battle convoy? Annette's spells had begun only a week ago. An occasional stagger or cold sweat here and there, but nothing too serious as to raise alarm or at least as far as she was concerned though Brook could beg to differ, for Annette always seemed to shrug it off with nothing but good humor, implying the heat must be frying her brain. It wasn't until Brook found her one sweltering afternoon in the drawing room collapsed on the floor, sweat-soaked and gasping for breath, that she was finally bedridden. So now here he was, pacing up and down the hall like a mad man, patiently awaiting (or at least as far as he could manage without poking his head into the room every other second only to be scolded to get out) the doctor's verdict of the young woman's condition. His ears perked at the sound of the door clicking open and then closed, to find none other than the doctor himself standing in the frame, luring him with a placid yet solemn finger.

* * *

Annette just lay there, her only company being the numerous dust bunnies scattered around her, the soothing cool of the wood against her feverish face, completely drawn a blank. She didn't know what to think, what to feel. Not until_ he _came in, not until _he _expressed his own feelings. _He _would determine what they were to do about the matter she decided. She would leave this up to him. Brook was better at making decisions than she anyhow. He always had been.

* * *

Brook collectedly entered the room with a stoic expression, though the air around him was dense with panic and his mind a raging vortex of pure chaos. Suffice to say the doctor's words had hit him head on like a cannonball. He was so keen on maintaining this cool, serene outlook of his, that his brain had failed the first time to realize Annette wasn't even in bed, the covers messily pulled aside and sheets soaked where her back once lay.

The blustering storm within Brook's mind suddenly halted to a standstill, all previous distress and anxieties pegged, as his thoughts instead were overwhelmed by confusion. "Annette?" He took a couple steps farther into the room, ready to call her name again, though the small shuffle under the bed was alone enough of a response. He tilted his head in a coy gesture, gingerly inching his way over to the bed before getting on his hands and knees and peering underneath. There was Annette lying on her side, her back to him, though from the look of her night gown, seemed to be coursing with sweat. "Nettie, what ever are you doing?" A hint of a smile danced in his voice. The young woman simply shifted, seeming to curl into herself like that of a frightened roly-poly. "It's cooler down here," was her nonchalant response. "And dirtier," Brook chuckled ever so slightly. "Hurry up and get out from under there before you become even more ill than you already are." He gently grabbed her by the arm with full intention of pulling her out, but the sound of her voice stopped him. "Brook." The name came out quivering, like a small abandoned child left out in the snow.

All at once, the panic he had let settle in the very back of his mind, resurfaced and struck his heart with the worst kind of fear; the fear of losing love. "Annette listen to me. Everything is going to be alright. I'll quit my position as captain so I can stay home. I won't allow you to do this all on your own! I'll be with you every step of the way! Nettie, please! Please don't feel like you're all alone!" With those final words, she finally turned to face him though she was far from the frantic blubbering mess Brook had been expecting. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she was _smiling_, no, brimming with such life and joy, it was hard to tell if she had ever been somber about the news at all. "I'm so happy."

Immediately, Brook's baffled expression whittled away, his lips curving into a wide smile before splitting to reveal the white of his teeth. "Yhohoho~ You really had me going." He tugged her out from underneath the bed, drawing her close to his chest and taking ahold of her chin as to plant a soft and tender kiss upon her lips.

Annette giggled blissfully as their lips parted. "You don't need to quit anything. I'm just relieved you're so elated about this." Brook's eye's grew wide in surprise. "Of course I'm elated! This is a child we're talking about, Nettie. Our child! I'm just so, so…soooo…" The words trailed and the blood drained from his face as his mind finally caught up with the rush of events. "Shit! I'm going to be a father!"


	2. Fae

**Continuation...? I don't know, I'm just sort of screwing around with the idea now.**

* * *

Brook was long accustomed to the little head of waves and curls that bounced around the manor like it was nobody's business, silently and swiftly fulfilling what ever personal endeavor that always seemed so crucial since the only way of completing such tasks was by racing through the halls like there was a fire in every room. So when the flourish of châtain scurried past him yet again, he thought little of it. Then he did a double-take. Wait, was that right? No, there was something different, something that struck him as unusual. One off color, a flash of dark red to be exact, that was not part of the usual assemble of the bustling flurry. "Eh, hold it!" Last time he checked, his daughter never had a bulgy maroon rectangle plastered to the front of her chest. The little girl instantly halted her jaunty scampering, reluctantly turning to face her monstrous tree of a father. "Fae, what are you doing with your mother's sewing book?"

"Nothing," she murmured, her eyes flicking from one wooden plank of the floor to the next.

His lips pulled into a frown. "Don't lie to me, young lady."

The small child fidgeted uncomfortably, shifting her weight from one foot to the other with a bit of a bob, as if performing one of the most infamous dances when one is in need of relieving themselves. "I was going to put it on the piano bench," she finally answered, her face sinking lower and lower behind the book in which she held so soundly to her chest.

Brook had to fight the sudden urge to smile, desperate to maintain the stern, fatherly visage he had going, now that the only thing visible of the child were two eden green sols, preciously peering up at him from their hardbound horizon. He didn't quite make it. "And why would you do that?" He held a fist up to his mouth, repressing a chuckle that rose in his throat.

"So I could reach the keys," she mumbled softly.

Brook's heart skipped a beat. Could it be? Neither Cecilia nor Baron had ever shown so much as a flicker of interest when it came to the line of music much to Brook's disappointment. And even when he attempted to introduce them to such instruments as the piano or violin, they simply turned up their noses before he even had the chance to teach them the difference between andante and allegro. He knelt down, placing a mischievous finger on the head of the book and playfully pushing down so as to get a better look of the bashful little face that lied beyond. "You mean you were going to try to play?"

All at once, the hardcover barrier came tumbling down to reveal the exhilarated grin in which the girl's teeth bore. "Yeah! Just like mommy!" she exclaimed.

He tilted his head curiously, lifting an eyebrow at the unexpected outburst. "Why not like daddy?" His eyes narrowed suspiciously, a smile slowly spreading across his lips. She scrunched up her nose, retreating once more behind the buckram burgundy cover, as if holding up the book between her and the inquiry would separate her from the foul stench of the week old onions she seemed to catch a whiff of at that moment. "Daddy looks at hard looking papers when he plays. With a lot of dots and squiggles."

Brook couldn't sustain himself from laughing this time. "Yohohoho~ Those dots and squiggles are called notes." He tenderly scooped up the child with full intention of heading towards the drawing room where in one of its four corners sat a luxurious grand piano that was cherished and highly frequented by the man himself. "And they're not that hard to learn if you have a good teacher."

"Will notes help me play better?"

"Indeed they will. But only if you put in the time and effort needed to learn them."

"Then I want to learn notes!"

"Ah! You do?!"

"Yes! Daddy, will you be my teacher?"

"Hmmmm, I don't know…"

"Please daddy! Please, please, pleeeeeease!"

"Well, you got me. I guess I have to now."

"Thank you, dada!"

* * *

**I got lazy towards the end...Can you tell? **

**Cecillia and Baron are older syblings. **

**Fae is about 6 yrs.**

**Fae: Fairy (French) People with this name tend to be creative and excellent at expressing themselves. They are drawn to the arts, and often enjoy life immensely.**

**Annette can play the piano by ear, making it look easy in Fae's eyes hence why she is so eager to learn like her mother unlike her father who looks at sheet music.**


End file.
